Synch
by Wravyn
Summary: The setting is perfect. The timing is perfect. So he tells her he loves her, and... (SEIFTIS)


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**Disclaimer:** Blah, blah, blah, Squaresoft, blah, blah, blah, not mine.

**Author's Note: **If it seems familiar, you probably read it on the Seiftis board.

**Dedication:**For Starlight, for being the first to thumbs up me on this one. Kalouah, for putting me on the list (I really am so freakin proud...) Al, for an infinite number of reasons.

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** Synch**  
by _Wravyn_

He paused; looked at the woman sitting next to him on the slope, looked down at their hands, so warmly entwined, and he marveled at the immutable rightness of the world. He would have whooped with primal joy would it not have disturbed the quiet serenity of their surroundings; he decided instead to succumb to the overwhelming urge to kiss her. So he did.

She laughed as she returned the kiss, her breath tickling him sweetly. At the sound of her laugh he heard poetry, and he heard music, and he felt ridiculously happy. At that moment, he knew, just _knew_, that it was time. She was lithe and light and sun-kissed perfection, and he was in love.

His heart beat with nervous anticipation, but he was high on hope, and he did not hear. Summoning a confidence he did not really feel, he laid himself bare with three innocuous words.

It was not quiet on the hill, as he had previously thought. As he waited for her response he noted that Gaia had herself quite and orchestra, and he smiled at the accompaniment to his heart's song. The dry, knowing whisper of wind-rustled flora. The crash of foamy brine over sand and stone. The raucous screech of an impatient seagull. Thin, fluting trills from the daintier birds. The hills were indeed alive with the sound of music, but he soon came to realize that the melody that would have completed his opus remained unsung, and her expression did not change.

Slightly puzzled, he said the words again, a little louder, a little more emphatically, but she remained still as the rock she leaned against, staring out at the fields around them, at the waters below, at anything, it seemed, but him. A crease began to form between his eyebrows, and a dull, unfamiliar drumming - his heart, it was - began to join in the unlikely chorus. For the third time, he repeated himself, uncertain now, and he grasped her shoulders in hopes of garnering a reaction. Any reaction.

Any reaction at all.

She turned her face slowly to his, those alabaster features he could never resist. The glint of sunlight reflecting off her glasses half-blinded him, but he narrowed his eyes and peered deep into her own. The clarification he hoped for was nowhere to be found, indeed, cornflower blue had never looked so distant before. A moment's perusal, then, her lips pinched together, she looked away.

The drumming in his ears grew ever louder, while the rest of the world faded into a sharp, silent white. He soon could see nothing but her face; hear nothing but the awful quiet of her response. Time slowed, then stopped, but nevertheless he aged an infinite number of years as he waited for the answer that would not come.

...would not...

But at last she stirred, opened her mouth, and color and light and sound returned. His heart began to pound again, madly, expectantly, anticipation making him eager. He, ever the scornful cynic, would have laughed himself silly had anyone ever told him he would someday play the puppy-dog, the infatuated swain. But there it was, and here they were, and infatuated swain he was indeed. He had told her how he felt, and now, now she would respond in kind.

When she spoke, her voice was perfectly level. "It's getting late. We should head back."

His smile slipped a notch, and he stared at her blankly.

She repeated her words, and moved to stand.

His hand settled on hers, and now his eyes were pleading. She pulled away for the second time, not ungently, and got on her feet. The erratic beating slowed to a dull, weary throb. This time it was he that turned away.

She stood looking down at him from her vantage point, silent and pensive. For the merest of instances her mask slipped, but he did not see. "Seifer...I..." She paused, shook her head. "Let's go."

He nodded curtly and stood. As he followed her back to Garden he noticed the strident sounds of wind and water and of warbling birds, and he wondered how he had ever thought Nature's dissonance beautiful.


End file.
